Emanuel
by OneLastMiracle
Summary: Over 2000 years ago in Ancient Greece, Gods walked amongst mankind. They warred with them, they lived with them and lay with them. Then one day an Empire fell and they disappeared. Life became legend, but their children lived on. Now in the present day, the descendants of Gods unknowingly walk with common man, and not everyone is as human as they seem. More to follow.
1. Prologue

**Emanuel**

**Prologue**

The moon hung low and full in the sky that night, lighting the path of a lonely traveller as he walked through the unfamiliar countryside. The traveller made his way slowly, hunched over with the weight of the heavy bag strapped to his back. He kept his eyes fixed on the ground, focussing on keeping one foot moving in front of the other. A steady stream of sweat trickled off his face and onto the dry, yellow grass which crunched underneath his dirty feet. The ground took in the moisture hungrily, parched from years of dehydration from the sun. In the moonlight the travellers' shadow stretched behind him on the ground, reminding him of how far he had come and how far he had yet to go, as he trekked ever-higher up the hillside.

Grass eventually gave way to stone. Large, grey dusty rocks were heaped in large piles on the ground, making his walk exceedingly difficult. Yet his friend the moon made the man walk on, and with sure footing he navigated the granite obstacles that cluttered his path. He had been travelling all day, and with each step he took he was beginning to accept that he was getting more and more lost.

Frustrated, the man abandoned the walk and sat down on a sizable chunk of rock, which vaguely reminded him of the torso of a man. He slowly slumped off his bulky backpack. He let out a low sigh as his muscles begin to relax after their physical exertion.

"Brilliant," the man muttered to himself, as he stretched his aching back, "as per usual your skills of navigation are second to none. Here you are, lost, in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night, in a country where you don't even speak the language."

Whilst he spoke, the man picked up his bag and put it on his lap. Unzipping a small pocket he took out his phone. Still no signal. "Perfect." He sighed, stuffing it back in his bag.

He closed his eyes and lifted his head back, enjoying a solitary breeze in the humid night air. As he paused, the moon light up his glistening face. He looked exhausted, the bags under his eyes creating the impression that he had slept rough for a couple of days. His cheeks and nose were pink and freckled, from spending his days exposed in the Grecian summer sun. He ran his hand through this curly, brown hair, the dull pounding in his head reminding him that he had drunk the last of his water that morning. Leaning backwards, he rested his head against the cool, hard stone and sighed. Tired and thirsty, the traveller could already feel waves of drowsiness begin to wash over him.

Then he heard a noise that summoned him out of his revere. In the silent night air, he could make out the sound of the tinkling of glass, the thrum of music and the unmistakable sound of voices, _at last I've found civilisation!_

The young man stood up quickly and turned his face towards the noise, his view was obstructed by a wall of rock, but with a new lease of energy he scrambled up the stone and looked down to see a ravine in the landscape. In the middle of this rocky clearing was a small tavern. The walls of the solitary structure were so dirty and weather beaten that he could not even imagine what colour they once were. Most of the windows were boarded up, and no light came from inside the dingy tavern. The traveller was sure that if it wasn't for the noise and a small smattering of cars parked around the side of the building, he would have assumed it to be derelict.

He shouldered his bag with haste and made his way down the hillside towards the tavern. As he got closer, he could make out the writing on a faded sign at the front of the building. Wiping his dirty, sun-kissed face on the back of his hand, the traveller approached the sign, which read "Gorgo's Bar and Grill. Entrance at Rear". Spurred on by the thought of food and shelter, the man passed the unoccupied, dusty cars which cluttered the car park and made his way around the side of the building without delay.

Yet as the traveller turned the corner, his heart sank. The sight that greeted him anything but the salvation he had hoped to find amidst this desolate landscape. A dusty, long wooden bar ran alongside the wall at the back of the building, the back of it was cluttered with half filled, dirty bottles. In front of them stood a formidable man, cleaning glasses with the sleeve of his shirt. The bar was sheltered under a canopy which extended itself from the building, covering a smattering of tables and chairs which were occupied by the bars patrons. Despite the squalor of the bar and its obscure location, the traveller was surprised to see that the tables were full, with almost every seat in the establishment taken. Each table was decorated with a dimly lit lantern, which hid the faces of many of the drinkers. From the looks of his surroundings, the traveller could guess that it was for this sense of anonymity that attracted punters to this drinking hole.

After taking in his surroundings, he walked over to bar, hoping to engage the squalid glass-cleaner. As he approached, he took in the man. Like the bar, the man was weary, and looked as though he had seen better days. His thin grey hair was combed over to one side, in a feeble attempt to cover the top of his head. The sweat stained shirt he wore over his yellowing vest, was missing as many buttons as the man was missing teeth. Before speaking to the glass-cleaner, the traveller was already wishing he had not stumbled upon this bar and could sense that the man in front of him was even more sinister than what met the eye. Yet, it was his eyes which created an air of mystery about the man, for they were concealed by thick rimmed, black sunglasses, despite it being the middle of the night. He was face to face with the barman now, and was so close the traveller could see his own worried face reflected in the sunglasses, as he perched on a vacant bar stool. He cleared his throat,

"Sir?" the traveller asked, "Can you speak English?"

The man merely stared at him, wiping the same glass with the same filthy sleeve. The lonely traveller was beginning to wish that he hadn't lost his English-to-Greek dictionary as he continued to persevere with the barman.

"I am lost. My name is Simon. I was wondering if you could direct me to my hotel? I know it's awfully late, I got a bit carried away…" He trailed off as the man continued to stare. With the sunglasses fixed on Simon, he could see how truly lost and pathetic he looked.

"Do you think I would be able to stay here? Stay here?" Simon said pointing to the bar. He elongated each word, praying that the man might understand him. He continued, "Can I stay here until morning?" Simon was halfway to getting on his knees and begging the barman to understand him, when he set down his glass and simply said,

"No".

Simon was taken a-back, the barman's heavily accented voice was harsh and rasping.

Simon blinked, "Oh. Well could I have a drink?"

"No."

"I have money."

"No."

Growing more desperate Simon pleaded, "Well can I get directions? Why won't you help-"

"No", the barman interrupted, and began to walk from Simon.

Angry and exhausted, Simon admitted defeat and stooped to gather his backpack, when a deep, booming voice shouted over the top of his head "Gorgo!"

Simon jumped, and turned to look towards the couple turning the corner into the open-air bar. The newcomers were a man and woman. They approached the bar with confidence and the man shook hands with the seedy barman. Without delay they fell into a hushed conversation, the man staring into Gorgo's sunglasses with a stern intensity. The newcomer was a tall, bald, thickly built man, whose dark skin was stretched tightly over his muscular frame. His features were heavy, with his wide mouth exposing a brilliant set of sharp, white teeth.

After a moment, he turned his companion, "What would you like to drink, babe?" It wasn't until he turned to the pale woman on his arm that Simon noticed that the dark man's handsome face was partly obscured by an eye patch that he wore firmly over his right eye.

"I'm not thirsty", came the response from the pale, young woman, as she sighed and turned from the talking men. She took no interest in their affairs, and she mournfully looked to the ground as she took a couple of steps away from her companion and lent against the bar. Simon took in her long, white hair and pale face and felt himself become lost in her beauty. Like a work of art, Simon could have looked at her all day, her slight frame, wrapped in a cream summer dress, her eyes a startling, icy blue. She had a piercing stare, Simon noticed, as he looked longingly into her eyes. He felt his already pink cheeks burning, as she smiled at him. Realising much too late that he had been caught staring, and Simon quickly averted his gaze and looked to the ground.

"Aria!" the dark man boomed as the beautiful, blue eyed girl quickly turned towards her man. He smiled as Aria approached him and Gorgo, then continued,

"Everything is set, you are to sing in the bar tonight. Go and get ready."

Aria slowly turned and walked towards the front of the tables, situated there was a small wooden crate which she stood on and immediately the bar fell silent. Simon could tell that this was not the first time Aria had sang at the bar, for the patrons sudden silence begged her to begin her song. As her lips opened, the sound that came out was like nothing Simon had ever heard before. Her voice seemed to dance inside Simon's head, making him feel drowsy yet completely content. Aria's song filled his mind and as Simon's vision began to cloud, he was unaware of anything else except the melody escaping Aria's lips. With that sound he was not certain of anything anymore, except that he had not heard a sound so beautiful and yet so haunting in his entire life.

The song as finished all too soon as the eye-patched man began his loud applause and Simon was forced out of his daydream. He felt groggy and disgruntled, and so did the rest of the customers as their blank faces stared around, scratching their heads and yawning in unison.

Simon knew he had outstayed his welcome as the one-eyed man shot him a dirty look from the side of the bar. Not wanting to stay any longer, Simon fumbled around for his backpack, only to realise that it was no longer by his side and nowhere to be seen. He frantically began looking around the bar, ignoring others cries of annoyance as he looked under tables and upturned chairs. Simon felt a strong hand on his arm, forcing him to stop his search and wheel around to face the one-eyed man.

"Is there a problem?" He asks, staring into Simon with a small smirk playing in the corner of his lips. Simon shrugged off his tight grip, as he squared up to the taller man.

"My bag. Where is it?" Simon looks at the man steadily, he had met men like this before. All of Simon's hunger and exhaustion became anger; he could feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins, making his hands shake as he curled them into fists.

The dark man leaned into Simon, so close that he could feel his breath hot on his face as he growled, "I think you better leave".

"Not without my bag!" Simon yelled. He knew he was making a spectacle of himself and he didn't care. He needed his bag, and it was a question of pride. Angry curses and thoughts coursed through Simon's mind, as began to plan how he was going to get himself out of this situation. As though he could read Simon's mind, the barman began to laugh, a dry laugh that cut through the tense bar. Looking around, Simon could see that everyone was staring silently it him. This only fed his sense of anger and frustration, as the traveller stormed over towards the barman and launched himself over the counter, grabbing the man by the collar of his smelly vest.

"I know you have it". Simon spat, "So give it back!"

The barman's face twisted into a toothless grin, as he raised his hand to indicate to the one-eyed man that he should not interfere. Calmly, Gorgo took off his sunglasses, and set them down on the bar. Simon pulled Gorgo closer to him, determined to assert his authority over the older man, but the barman simply continued to laugh in Simon's face. This time, however, he is not alone; the entire bar is staring at the unwelcome traveller, with his hands clinging to Gorgo's shirt, laughing and pointing at Simon, who could feel his cheeks burning furiously for the second time that evening. He felt the dark man stood behind him as the barman's voice rasped in Simon's ear, "Strangers do not last long here".

Simon turned to look at the barman in the eyes, and he felt his breath catch inside his chest, as his heart turned to stone. In the Gorgo's eyes, Simon saw everything, the beginning of the world and its end, every transgression, every lie. He could taste salty, sea air in his mouth, and it reminded him of home. As Simon stared into the eyes of death he could feel his life ebb away, and eternal nothingness begin to consume him as his vision darkened. Simon felt his eyes begin to tear, but before a drop could fall, he was no more.

Standing before the barman was a figure of a man, grasping towards him, carved in stone, with such detail it is as though he were once alive. Illuminated by the light of the moon, the face of the statue is one etched with sadness and pity. Gorgo carefully removed his shirt from hands of the cold stone, reached for the bell on the counter and rang it, its chimes reverberating around the bar and into the still night air.

"Last drinks ladies and gentlemen", the barman barked, picking up his sunglasses and pushing them back onto his nose. He picks up a glass and starts to clean it on his shirt sleeve, hardly taking notice of the stone man in front of him.


	2. Ch1 Emanuel

**1 – Emanuel. **

"Emanuel," a gentle voice whispered into the sleeping man's ear. He groaned and began to stir as felt the heat of a warm body lying next to him. Emanuel tried to open his eyes, but the light in the room was too bright, and he quickly shut them again as his head started to throb horribly. He rolled over and rubbed his face into his pillow, but before sleep could consume him, the voice beside him started up again, "It's time to wake up, sleepy head."

He can tell that the voice belonged to a woman, but other than that Emanuel could not tell from voice alone who the woman was. He slowly opened his eyes again and ran them over the naked woman sharing his bed. Her red hair was fanned out around her, and it seemed to dance as the light of the afternoon sun fell upon it through the open windows. Her full lips were pressed into a smile as she gazed at Emanuel contently. Her soft legs were intertwined with his, and in their close proximity he could still smell her sweet perfume that she wore the night before. Looking at her, Emanuel couldn't help but smile to himself.

He ran his hand absentmindedly over his torso as he tried to recall the events of last night, and judging from the girl beside him, it must have been a good one. He silently congratulated himself on his conquest, as he looked desirously into her eyes.

For Emanuel, there was no greater feeling than waking up next to a beautiful girl, who had fallen unashamedly in love with him overnight, and having no clue who they are. As the girl began to stroke Emanuel's blonde hair, he struggled to remember her name. He must have met her in _Aux Folies_ last night, maybe he told her that he was an artist, or a doctor, or the multi-millionaire playboy. He smiled to himself again. These were only a few of the variety of pick-up lines he used in order to impress the naïve women of Paris. Some lines worked better than others, and ironically it was the persona of the rich playboy which took the most convincing: despite it being true. Anyway, it was much more exciting to pretend to be someone else, why admit to being a filthy rich man with loose morals, when he could pretend to be somebody else?

He pulled the girl closer to him, wanting something to ground him and hold him as the extent of his hangover began to kick in. Kissing her forehead, Emanuel's face contorted as his head began to thump relentlessly. He could hear a male voice shouting, begging to be heard, but assuming it to be the voice of the conscience, Emanuel had no trouble ignoring it as he sought sleep once more. Yet the voice grew louder, and was joined with the shouts of others. Just as Emanuel realised that the voices he heard were within his apartment and not his head, his bedroom door swung open violently.

Emanuel sat up with a start, and the girl beside him gave a small yelp as she quickly covered her body with the lily-white, satin bed sheets.

"I told you _Sir_, the young master is sleeping and will not receive visitors until the evening!" exclaimed the feeble voice of their long serving butler Stefan. However, he was being completely ignored by the tall man in the door way.

The small butler continued to babble at the intruder, threatening him with calling security, but the stranger continued to ignore him. He pushed past Stefan, who huffed away as he stepped through the threshold into Emanuel's room. There was a long moment of silence as the tall, dark haired man locked eyes with Emanuel. The uninvited guest took notice of how much Emanuel had changed since he had last seen him. He was older, broader and much more muscular than he was when they together played as boys.

Yet as the intruder took in Emanuel's boyish face, squinting at him through his hangover, he could not help but smile as he remembered the trouble they used to get into together as teens. Although those days of drinking and debauchery were a distant memory for the tall man, as his eyes darted from Emanuel to the beautiful woman lying next to him, it looked like his friend had not changed as much as he first thought.

Emanuel had quite forgotten his banging head, dry mouth, and the woman next to him as he studied the man who had so suddenly appeared in his room. Despite still sitting on the bed, Emanuel could tell that the man was at least half a foot taller than him. The intruder's thick black hair was hanging over his face, resting above his hazel eyes. He was dressed plainly; a carefully ironed white shirt tucked into his dark, denim jeans. His large black boots were compressing the expensive shag-pile carpet which lined Emanuel's bedroom floor. Although he did not immediately recognise the man, Emanuel did not feel threatened by his sudden appearance in his bedroom. Looking to his guests' dark, hairy chest, Emanuel saw a signet ring hanging around his neck on a gold chain. He remembered how they had procured it together, in a poker game in some dive bar in London, and how after all their efforts it was too small to fit around his friends large fingers. He smiled.

"Nikos!" Emanuel cried as he leapt towards his old friend, breaking the silence between the two best friends. He embraced Nikos in a tight bear hug, trying to remember how many years it had been since he had last seen his friend. He only pulled away when Nikos slapped him on his behind, reminding him just how naked he was. They grinned at each other and fell into a fit of laughter.

"How are you doing, my old friend?" Emanuel asked as he threw on a fresh pair of boxer shorts. Without waiting for an answer, Emanuel threw himself once more at his companion, feeling giddy and excited that his friend should be here after their years apart. Despite only coming up to Nikos's shoulder, his didn't stop Emanuel from throwing his arms around his friends head and pulling him down easily into a half nelson. Emanuel ruffled Nikos's hair as his friend laughed; they had been like brothers to each other throughout their childhoods. Emanuel was relieved that that they still felt comfortable in each other's company, and their brotherly bond had so easily slipped back into place after all their years apart.

"Bloody hell, you're stronger than I remember!" grunted Nikos as he attempted to grapple Emanuel onto the bed and break free of his grip.

"Hey! You don't get to look as good as me without lifting a few weights," said Emanuel through clenched teeth. It may have sounded big headed, but it was true. The man looked like a God. With nothing to do to fill his days Emanuel had spent most afternoons working on his appearance. He enjoyed his muscular, athletic body just as much as the ladies who approached him every night at his local haunts.

Both men grunted as Nikos wrestled to get free of Emanuel, and they ungracefully toppled onto the bed when Emanuel finally relaxed his grip. Instead of accepting defeat, this lull in their fight was all the opportunity Nikos needed to pounce on top of his friend, laughing all the while as he punched his friend repeatedly in the side. The bed shook, and the red headed woman let out a cry as the men rolled onto her legs and toppled her out of the bed. Neither of them took any notice however, as they continued to wrestle like young boys.

Panting for breath, Nikos eventually accepted defeat and flopped onto the bed, as Emanuel stood up and settled himself on a chair opposite where his friend lay. Emanuel still couldn't believe that his friend was here, and began to bombard him with all the questions that filled his head.

"It's good to see you brother. But what are you doing here? Last I heard you were living the dream in the motherland?"

Nikos laughed, both he and Emanuel bonded as children over their shared Greek heritage. Yet neither of them had ever set foot there, growing up with their parents in London, and they always used to dream about the adventures they would have in Greece, the motherland. When they were teenagers they made a pact to fly over to Greece when they were old enough and open a bar by the sea, where they could watch the girls sunbathe on the beach by day and drink all night. To them, escaping their boring life and moving to their motherland was a shared dream. Yet, it was never one that became a reality. When they graduated from university, Emanuel followed his parents as they moved to Paris, and then real life seemed to get in the way.

"It's hardly the dream. I work in a hotel. That's actually why I'm here. I heard that you were still living at your parents place and figured you might like an exit route."

"Work with you?" Emanuel turned the idea over in his head, "I don't think so, brother. No offence man, but why would I work my ass off in some cheap hotel for money I don't need when I can stay here and do what I do best."

"Which is what that exactly?" Nikos questions with a raised eyebrow.

"Women."

Nikos threw a pillow at Emanuel, as the red headed threw them both a filthy look and huffed off to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. Emanuel doesn't even notice, and starts to pick at the skin around his cuticles. Nikos can't blame his best friend for refusing his offer. Emanuel had it made here. He doesn't have to work for money, and it is clear that he sees life as little more than a game that he can sleep and gamble his way through.

_Good for him_, Nikos thought, _I'd probably do the same if I was in his shoes_. Despite their lifelong friendship, Emanuel and Nikos had always been from different circles of society. Emanuel never wanted for anything as a child, he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Whereas Nikos was lucky to go to school with a sandwich that wasn't made from stale bread. Nikos looked at his best friend, the spoilt little rich boy, but as Emanuel threw him his cheekiest smile, he remembered why it was impossible to resent him. His smile was infectious and his most redeeming feature.

Emanuel piped up, bringing Nikos out of his revere. "So, tell me. What are the Greek women like? Feisty? Flithy? Hairy?" He laughed. This was typical Emanuel, and Nikos observed the way his friends face lit up in anticipation for Nikos's response. But before he had a chance to reply, someone in the doorway cleared their throat.

Both men turned around to see Emanuel's mother stood behind them. She was dressed sharply in an expensive grey suit, and her hands were gripped on her boney hips. Her blonde hair was streaked with white and her cheeks were creased around her thin lips in way which made her appear as though she was permanently frowning. But knowing his mother, Emanuel knew she always was. She looked down her nose at Nikos before turning her eagle eyes to her only child and proclaimed in her cold, hard voice, "Emanuel get dressed. Your father is home and he wants to see you."


End file.
